Hal was conscious of a little inward smile of gladness. She had guessed Ethel’s secret long enough ago, and she knew the power of uncertainty and a little thwarting. Dudley would naturally try to break down Ethel’s dislike; and perhaps in doing so he would grow to know her better.
“I think I must try and get up tomorrow,” was all she said. “Ethel is so reserved. She will get ill herself if she broods and frets on the top of all her work and anxiety.”
“Will you?” he asked, with some eagerness. “Basil loves to see you; and if he is really worse, I shall get Sir John Maitland to go up and see him again.”
“Of course I’ll go. We may be able to help them between us.”
She was just going away upstairs to bed, when the forlorness of Dudley’s attitude, and the thought of her own sore heart before Dick comforted her, made her lay down her hat again and cross the room to him.
“Dudley, don’t forget you’ve got me still. I know I’m very trying sometimes, but I love you so much more than Doris ever could have.”
She sat on the arm of his chair, and played with the lapel of his coat.
“Don’t forget about me, Dudley. If you are just only miserable, I shall be miserable too.”
He looked at her with a sudden greater depth of affection than she had ever seen.
“I don’t forget, Hal. If it weren’t for you, what in the world should I do now?… It’s no use talking about it, is it? You will understand that; but thank God you’re still here with me, and we can go on the same again.”